


I Give You My All

by jellyfishandtuna



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cuddles, Drug Use, Emotions, Fluff, Gen, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, M/M, Sex, Torture, Violence, War, Young Sherlock, alternative universe, character developments, coming to turns with loss, lack of emotions, mention of sexual violence, relationships, young john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfishandtuna/pseuds/jellyfishandtuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes: 19<br/>John Watson: 24<br/>Mycroft Holmes: 26</p>
<p> What if John was always a consent in Sherlock's life. How different would they be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Time

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has some of Sherlock's cocaine use. John being there to help him through and learning something that he didn't know. Sherlock opens up. This chapter is written from Sherlock's point of view.

It's a funny feeling really. The surge of pleasure coursing through your veins before the sharp fine tip ever breaks the skin. Steady hand to squeeze the end down until the warm liquid fuels you. A high unlike any other. Taking the time to remove whatever cloth or piece of rubber that's been tied around your upper arm before limbs are to heavy to move.

It takes mere seconds for my mind to fully clear. It's the best feeling in the world, other than one. For the first time, the gears aren't turning full speed and I'm not thinking! Total weightlessness. It's the best orgasmic feeling I've ever felt, not that I know what sex is like. I don't have the patience for it.

"Sherlock?" 

If I have a tongue or vocal cords, I can't remember. I'm focused on the high. Nothing more. Mummy is going to be pleased with her youngest child. Oh yes!

"Jesus, Sherlock."

"Hm?"

I feel those hands, strong and steady. First cupping my face before checking my pulse. I'm alive, promise but it's an inner monologue that never reaches the surface. I know it's John and he will make it a point to scold me later. 

"You stupid git."

It's a soft insult. He's concerned. God love him. 

My body is free falling as it rests back on my bed. John. I can't stay that I've been the best of friends to him but it's as if he's always been there. Always. My sweet John. My only friend but... he's leaving me soon. Maybe this is what lead to this. Maybe it was Mummy. It's an odd pricking sensation as his thumb rests on the slow pulse of my neck. God, if he only knew. 

He's older then I but not by much. Younger than Mycroft but not by much. 

"It's because I'm leaving, isn't it?"

Oh my sweet John. That's only almost all or half of it. If I could will my lips to move, to form words into sentences, I would gladly pour my heart out. As it stands, I can not. 

My eyes are wired shut, slow pulse. The haze in my mind for a moment is calm. John moves closer. I feel the coolness of his forehead press against my own. Catch the mint gum as he exhales slowly. My John is amazing. Never judging and always understanding. 

Even in this state, I hear footsteps in the hall, pausing by the bedroom door before retreating. I know that he's locked the door. Two fingers tap the skin above my pulse. 

"William." 

That soft voice. He's upset with me. That's the only time John uses my first name. Anyone else would receive a proper tongue lasing and an evil stare. Even in this state it rolls from his lips; sweet and loving. 

"Look at me."

I inhale and it fills my lungs with much needed air. Blinding light even though it's night and the room is quite dark. Spots fog my vision until I find what I am seeking. Those piercing blue eyes. So filled with love but behind them is something so much more.

John knows words fail me. He's the only one that can handle me, even on good days. 

"She did it again, didn't she?"

I just stare into his eyes. There isn't a maternal bone in my Mother's body. Emotions escape her. Lady Madeline Holmes is nothing more then the devil wrapped in human skin. Her words pierce your soul, leave you naked and raw. Mycroft bore the weight of it but since he's moved on with his life, there was nothing to stop her from dripping her disdain on me. 

John's fingers move from my neck, cupping my cheek. His thumb rubbing my high cheekbone with care. I didn't know when the tears fell. Never felt the moisture still from my unblinking gaze.

He rests his face in front of mine, inches and closes his eyes. 

"She's wrong. You're going to succeed in everything you do, Sherlock. I just know it."

And he smiles. Bless him, my John smiles. Even through the tears, the pleasure of the narcotics that pulse through my veins, I was able to give a pleasing sound. Somehow, I manage to grip John's jumper, right over his heart. The heart that belonged solely to me, no other. And we lay there, in silence until morning came around. John making sure that I didn't die in my sleep. 

He doesn't approve but he understands.

Weary eyes glance at the clock on the nightstand. John is sleeping but it's a light sleep. The moonlight shines through the curtains just enough so I can soak him in. That short dirty blonde hair that I adore running my fingers over. The light skin, not as pale as mine, that is smooth and rough at the same time. He's smaller than I but in ways, he's so much bigger. 

I can finally move. Rising my head from the pillow as my vision clears.

4:05 am

It's fuzzy and I feel sick before my lids close and I frown. He's leaving me. Panic rising, pulse elevates until I feel fingers lace with my own. Tight. Trying to reassure me. 

He knows. He has too.

"Talk to me, Sherlock."

It comes out in a sleepy haze. John is far from stupid. Not dull or ordinary from all the other "goldfish" as Mycroft calls them. John is unique and intelligent in his own right. 

I'm 19. New to the way of all these emotions that are surging through my mind and body and how to express them.

"Try."

Oh how he understands.

"You can't leave."

My voice is heavy and with a sharp exhale, it all pours out without my consent.

"What if you get hurt? Or worse die? I can't imagine my life without you and I can't see the past because you weren't there."

That sounded stupid.

"I won't have anyone in my corner cheering me on and steering me clear. I won't have..."

I pause, all the nerves in my brain are tingling. My skin feels stretched and my lungs fight for air. That's when I feel his strong arm wrap around my thin waist and John pulls me close to him. As close as the clothes will allow. It's never been about sex with us. 

"I love you, Sherlock."

I didn't notice my eyes had been shut until I opened them once more. Those blue irises washing over me, making a shiver run down my spine. 

"You're going to Uni in two weeks. I'm going to basic training. I've been studying at Bart's for three years now and the army seems the best way to go. Nothing is going to change. I can promise you that." 

He smiles and it melts my heart. 

"I'm a text away. An e-mail, a phone call. Yes, I will be in dangerous situations but..."

He pauses just briefly to kiss my lips. I relax. 

"You know being a doctor is my dream."

All I can do is sigh. I know I can't keep him from following his dreams but I'm selfish. 

"I just can't loose you." 

I feel his other hand, brushing though the nest of dark brown curls on my head. I can see his smile even in the darkness. 

"You won't. You aren't. You have a dream too, Sherlock, and I'm sure Lestrade would be pleased you followed it."

"Criminal justice with a side of chemistry. The only consulting detective in the world."

John beams with pride at my words.

"Rest with me."

And I do. His fingers through my hair, the only lullaby I need and his arms the reassurance that he will always return.

\----------

"I started with cocaine when I was 16. The need to so much more stronger than it is now. My childhood an unhappy one at best. Mummy's ideas of affection toward her children was nothing more then scorn and reminders of how we ruined her waist. Mycroft was 7 when I came into this world and as I grew older, his need to Mother me was stronger than the woman that borne me. I was always to pale, to skinny and my cheekbones where to high."

"I love your cheekbones." 

John called from the middle of the bed, still in a sleepy haze. I did nothing more then smile, popping him on the head with my pillow and he giggles. Oh how I love his laugh. 

"I was a normal child. Boundless energy, always getting into trouble I remember."

The pause causing John to take my hand.

"Father's punishments always came with swift blows. The memory of breaking his treasured glass snow globe from the Queen is one I shall never forget. It cost me a beating and being locked in a closet for several hours." 

I must have been trembling. A strong arm wraps around my waist and soft lips press against my skin. I'd never opened up to John like this before but since he was going away, he might as well know the truth. In his embrace, the walls came down brick by brick. He knows pieces, I was going to tell him as much as I could. 

I trust my John. 

"Mycroft was raised in a manner that would fit his station in life. 'Caring isn't an advantage." 

I didn't know the words had came out as cold. Now I was laying with my back against John's chest and my head resting on his shoulder. One arm over my thin waist, fingers tangling with my own. His other running through my curls. I'd met John over a year ago when his sister, Harriet was helping Mummy with a party of sorts. That's sort of what she does. A consulting party planner. Flaming alcoholic bitch was John's words but I would forever be grateful for the boy she ordered around like a servant and not blood. 

"Mummy wasn't much better. Always focusing on the failures. Nothing was ever good enough. Caring and comfort replaced with hate and inward self loathing. Mycroft became my parents, healing the pain and the bruises. It would explain his over protective nature at times. We didn't play. It made to much noise. We read mostly. It's where I developed a love of criminal justice and I shaped my mind around it. I was always a special child. Being able to see beyond the normal of what other's could. I do remember one Christmas, although it's not fond. It was the only time I remember getting anything that would be considered play."

John moved a bit behind me.

"It was a pirate ship, along with a costume. I remember forcing Mycroft to play with me." 

I laughed for a brief moment at that. 

"He hated it. Said that I took him away from his studies even if he did always carry a book with him." 

I felt John's lips grace my shoulder. 

"How old were you?"

"Seven."

He shook his head against my skin.

"I wasn't allowed to play in the house so we always went to the grove out back."

I sighed, still feeling his lips on my skin. They felt pleasant and I could feel odd tingles stirring deep within my stomach. I trusted John unlike any other, he knew this. I'm sure he wondered why I've always shy'd away from sexual activities but he never pushed the issues. Tonight, it might be different. He was leaving. I didn't want sex. I wasn't ready but I did wish to explore. His kisses were soft and lingering and I press against his lips. He smiled when a soft groan of wanting escaped my lips but then it was replaced with a sudden panic. 

"John."

Another pause. We didn't keep secrets from one another. Not now but even some truths were to painful to bring into the light. 

"Please. I'm not ready."

"I know. It's okay. I love you regardless, Sherlock but I do love those little noises." 

A smile crosses my lips and those three little words make my heart flutter and my pulse quicken in a different way. 

"I'll wait for you. Always." 

This was far better than sex. Intimate moments with John were nothing short of pulse pounding excitement. He asked for nothing and gave everything. 

"So what happened to make you relapse?"

An exhaled breathe and his arm tightened around my waist. My rock. I felt the prick of tears sting my eyes. 

"Just the usual. A useless nothing that will never amount to anything."

"I let out a scoffed breathe.

"I'm not Mycroft so why would she be proud. Or express excitement for me."

I remember my voice cracked, shoulders trembling before the sobs broke. I went from such a wonderful high to feeling as low as I could. John always there to fix the broken pieces. 

"Hey."

He presses his cheek against the bareness of my shoulder before I twist and turn, bringing my face into the crevice of his neck.

"I am very proud of you. Never forget that. Mycroft is proud of you. Don't let that hateful cow break you anymore than she already has. I know it's hard not to because she's your Mum but there are people that want to see you better yourself." 

I feel his lips gently press against my shoulder. The tears seem to stop with his warmth and compassion. If I hadn't met him when I did, I would most likely be dead. 

The gently vibration of his phone in his pocket caused him to groan. No doubt his sister.

"I'm not a child, Harry."

He puts it on speaker.

"That's not the point, Hamish, you're still my brother and despite what you think, I worry."

"Are you sober?"

John's question made me chuckle. The only time Harriet Watson showed concern for John was the rare moments she wasn't drinking. She sighed.

"Tell Sherlock I said hello. And I do want to see you before you depart. Even if it is for a second."

They said their goodbyes before panic rose in me. John just stared at me with those beautiful blue eyes.

"None of that."

He must have felt it as his phone was returned to his pocket. We spent the remainder of the morning locked in each other's embrace.

\----------

Two days later, it's the loneliest that I've been in a year. It was a tearful goodbye at least for me. John never let his emotions get in the way of anything but there was sadness in his expression. With a tight embrace, a gentle kiss on the lips, he was gone. The bus departs as I feel Mycroft's hand on my shoulder.

"Keep him safe." 

He just nods. Anthea is standing by the open door of the car as we slide in. To home in silence. To hell we go. 

'I miss you already.' SH

A very long minute goes by.

"I love you, Sherlock.' JW

It's a sad smile that crosses my lips.

'Love you more.' SH

'You'll see me in six months. Don't be sad. I know it's hard but it will pass before you know it.' JW

'Can't help myself.' SH

'I know. Just remember. My heart belongs to you and I am with you where ever you go.' JW


	2. I Will Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes: 19  
> John Watson: 24  
> Mycroft Holmes: 26
> 
> What if John was always a consent in Sherlock's life. How different would they be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard warnings apply.  
> Description of past rape by a parent.

"Is that all you got, Watson?!"

"Sir, no sir." 

The burning pain in his body was telling him otherwise. God, this made him miss warm showers and sit down dinners. There was a cold rain sinking into his clothes, into his skin. John's mind was racing. The gun in his hands in a tight grip. 

Even being a medic, he needed the same training as the rest. It drove him, somewhat. On his stomach, crawling through the trenches with the rest of his unit. All these lives rested in his hands. John's body no longer registering the pain, just the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. An explosion close to them spending mud and water falling from the sky. The shouts of their drill sergeant an ever present calling them crude names and hateful encouragements. 

"You're all worthless! Faster. The enemy isn't going to Mother you, maggots. Fucking move!"

Two weeks that's all that was running through John's mind. Two weeks and he would be into those loving arms before having to leave them again.

The guys teased him relentlessly about his relationship but most of them were jealous. Nearly half of them didn't have anyone waiting for them at home. 

"Alright, ladies! On your fucking feet!"

The rain still pounding them. Weapons down to their sides. One of the privates ran to the sergeant with a slip of paper whispering in his ear.

"Watson!"

He stands at attention.

"You have a visitor." 

A brow arches as he gives a salute, leaving his weapon with the private and making his way to the mess hall. John's mind racing with a million things as the door closes with a bang behind him.

Bloody Mycroft.

Standing erect with his hands folded over the handle of his umbrella. If there was a more expressionless face then Sherlock, it was his older brother.

John salutes him none the less. Remembering the older Holmes status with the British government.

"At ease, Private Watson." 

And he does. 

"Mud doesn't suit you, John." 

"I do what I have to but I can tell this isn't a social call." 

"Indeed not."

Mycroft let's out a sigh and for a moment, John's heart drops. 

"Sherlock?"

"No. My brother is still at Uni. Awaiting your return rather impatiently. Clean, for the most part."

John relaxes his shoulders, before shaking his head.

"Bloody Harry."

"Indeed. I felt that this required a formal visit instead of a call. Your sister has been placed in rehab for her own safety more than others. I know that the two of you aren't on the best of terms but some family is better than none."

"What did she do this time?"

"Besides the row in the pub and running around naked. Nothing more than embarrassing herself and causing your sister-in-law grief." 

Mycroft sat at one of the tables as Anthea brought him a blue folder. 

"Clara didn't wish the responsibility. Filing for a separation is the reason for Harriett's display. As you are the next of kin, power of attorney papers have been filed." 

John breathed a sigh, eyes scanning over the documents.

"Also this is the only leave you will have with him before being shipped out."

John rose his stare to meet with Mycroft's. Was that concern that washed over the Iceman's cold demeanor. 

"I know."

John signed the papers that held his sisters future.

"He's already wired tighter than I've ever seen him. Gregory is helping by giving him low level cases along with his studies but you need to explain it to him so that he understands. We both know what it will lead to if you don't, John." 

"You mean break it gently and explain that I will always come back."

"Indeed. Putting it mildly of course. Sherlock is a genius but his heart belongs to you. Handle it with care. He's more fragile than he likes to let on."

If only Mycroft knew.

Closing the file, Anthea takes it and leaves. 

"He isn't a child though."

"No, it's his urges that concern me."

\----------

'Are you awake?' -SH

Fifteen minutes. Fingers tap the desk but pale eyes never leave the computer screen.

'I love you.' -JW

A relieved smile crosses Sherlock's face, stealing himself from the laptop, he flops on his bed. 

'No one understands me. Half of them laugh at me to my face, the rest behind my back. I'm growing cold, John.' -SH

'I'll warm you up in a week no less.' -JW

Sherlock shook his head but laughed. 

'We need to have a serious talk when I arrive.' -JW

'I don't like your tone.' -SH

'It's a text.' -JW

'I still don't like it.' -SH

'Do you know how much I miss you, you idiot?' -JW

There was a ten minute pause that made John worry before Sherlock's text came through.

'I can't breathe here. I'm smarter than the professors and they hate me. I'm shunned by everyone except for a girl named Molly and I believe that it's only because she likes me. Lestrade keeps my busy but that's only because Mycroft threatens him with not having sex and it's boring. Boring, John. These idiots are beneath me and yet I'm forcing myself to be here. But I suppose anywhere is better than living with Mummy and I can't stand this. I'm depressed.' -SH

John moves from the bed. It had bothered the other men at first that John was given curtain privileges but once he explained to them his life, they cared less. Plus, he was going to be the man that most likely saved them. The mess hall was dark and quiet. 

Sherlock's phone buzzed.

"Hey."

John's voice was music to his ears. He hadn't heard it in months. John was already aware that Sherlock wasn't breathing. 

"Breathe for me, please."

After a moment, a long exhale followed by a broken sob.

"I've never been so lonely. No one cares."

"I do."

John rested his head on his knees. Listening to Sherlock and soothing him the best he could from over a phone. 

"There's a couple here; Donovan and Anderson." 

Sherlock pauses.

"I am not a freak."

This one sentence of words causes John's fist to ball and nails to dig into his palm. 

"No your not. Most people that meet you are jealous. Thus the reason for the name calling. Don't let them ruin your chances of bettering yourself, Sherlock." 

Sherlock stilled for a moment. How did he get so lucky? A bright light shined in John's eyes. 

"Alright, Watson. Social times over."

He nodded. 

"I'll text you."

"Love you."

"Love you more, git."

The last few days seemed to drag by. This time it was mostly taking care of the other privates. Seeing how his skills were and he found that a lot of them whined like girls. Excited chatter none the less when bags were started being packed and the boys were talking about the ones that waited for them. Family and lovers. The barracks would be empty for two solid weeks. Come back, briefed and shipped out. 

As Mycroft car arrives, it is welcomed by several whistles and nudges in the ribs. Even more so when the men got their first glance at Sherlock. Most of them once again jealous that John didn't have to ride the bus. 

"Oh sod off, you lot."

A round of laughter and farewells but there was something different. He wasn't greeted with his normal kiss and embrace but a straight stature and cold demeanor, nodding to the ones that said hello merely because he had to.

Once in the care, it was a different story. Sherlock turned not giving John time to breathe before lips crushed into his own and lengthy hands were checking to make sure he was still in one piece. 

"I'm alright, Sherlock."

John's tone was light but there was a growl that followed his statement and he was released. 

"I just wanted to be positive." 

But he was still tense and John could read him like a book.

"Mycroft told me about Harriett." 

John arched a brow, running his hand down his face.

"I suppose I will be a good brother and go see her at some point."

It didn't take long before they pulled up in front of Harry and John's old house. Mycroft had given him the keys on his visit. Sherlock oddly quiet the whole ride and didn't speak until they were standing in the kitchen. 

"Domestic bliss." 

Yet his tone wasn't light, it was rather cold. There was something behind it that John couldn't place. The Belstaff is removed and draped over a bar stool, revealing the deep purple silk that covered his torso. 

"Hey." 

John grabbed his arm, gentle but strong, pulling him into a tight embrace. Sherlock reluctant at first, finally wrapping his long arms around him, pulling him close. 

"Are you going to tell me what is wrong or am I going to have to guess?"

Sherlock's mind raced at the question.

"I hacked Mycroft's network. I got bored."

John tensed. 

"I've never cried so hard in my life."

And John knew what he was talking about. All they did was hold one another. Not wanting to break the embrace for fear that the other would slip away and fade. 

"I know. It's gonna be hard for both of us, yeah. And I didn't want you to find out like that. I wanted to be the one to tell you."

Sherlock rested his forehead against John's and gave a half hearted smile.

"We'll worry about it when it comes."

John's voice is soft when he speaks, taking a moment to kiss Sherlock's lips.

\----------

**Sherlock's POV**

John had mentioned not being able to rest over the course of his training. They weren't given any time before being thrust into the devil's hands. My beautiful John. His breathes are deep, relaxed and I just stare at him. Uni wasn't so bad once I finally fully understood what he's about to be thrust into.

Absent mindlessly, I run my fingers through what little hair he has. It earns me a soft moan that pricks my skin. I wish I could fulfill his sexual desires. To hear what sounds might come from deep within him. It's one of my biggest fears. He'll leave me for that reason.

So far, he's just called me a git and told me I was being ridiculous. Maybe I was but if the past where easy everyone would forget it. 

"I was ten when it started." 

I knew that he was sleeping but I couldn't stop myself. 

"Mummy knew what was happening. Mycroft suspected that something was happening but never said anything. Father seemed to scare the daylight's out of everyone." 

I tried to be strong. At least I was talking about it even if it was to myself or so I thought.

"A Father is meant to protect not abuse. In ways, I was thankful for not being born a girl. Mummy would always make me scrub my skin until it was raw. Un-clean. Un-pure. That's what she called me and for the longest time, I believed it to be my fault."

John was still beside me and I swallowed hard.

"I use to believe that he would do it as a punishment. It wasn't until I started to see that it happened more frequently to be so. It use to be mere touches until he got what he wanted." 

I didn't have the tears. I had shed most of that pain in my youth. Now it just seemed to have left me hollow, empty.

"I was fourteen when he raped me."

That's when I felt John fingers lace through my own. I was fighting to control my breathing. 

"It's okay, Sherlock." It wasn't your fault."

"He cursed me for my intelligence. Being able to do things that were deemed impossible. I've wanted to tell you this so many times. I was so afraid that you've leave me because of it." 

"You're a git, you know that."

I opened my mouth to protest but John's was latched onto me before I could blink. Tongues teasing and tasting. He wasn't leaving. 

"I told you."

John broke the kiss, leaving both of us a panting mess.

"You're stuck with me, Sherlock Holmes. No matter your past. I love everything about you. What happened was not your fault."

John cups my face.

"And when you're ready, I'll be here."

"What if I never am?"

"I'll still love you. No matter what comes."

My beautiful caring John.

"I want to take a bath with you."

The expression on John's face was utterly priceless. 

"I want to try."

He just nods and kisses my lips softly.

\----------

For such a small house, Harry's master bath was rather large. The tub big enough for at least four people.

"It's been bleached. Promise."

John gave me a wink and a chuckle. He is already shirtless. Muscle more tone than the last time that I saw him.

"Trust me. I'm not going to do anything to hurt you, okay. Just a bath and if anything happens, you know the safe words." 

I nod because I want to do this. I trust my John with my life. I want to be able to bring normal things into this relationship despite the pain of my past. 

"I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want, yeah but we need to heal you, Sherlock." 

Something my shrink could never do. 'It's just ugly.' The thought never reaches the surface. 

"How did you cope?"

"Most of the time, I delete painful memories. When I found out I couldn't, I merely willed myself to block the surges and the pleasure all together. I haven't had an erection since I was fifteen but I'm sure the cocaine had something to do with it also." 

"So it's like a light switch then?"

"One that hasn't been turned on in so long it doesn't work anymore."

John chuckles.

"I doubt that. Will you turn it on for me?"

I feel his fingers trace my collarbone and close my eyes, the smallest of whimpers escape my lips. 

"I've got you."

He whispers in my ear. I hear the water being turned off. Steam covering the mirrors. More bubbles than water and I smirk.

"You're beautiful, Sherlock." 

John's voice is so soft. A shutter runs through my body when I feel his fingers trail down my stomach. 

"We're going to take it slow. This can't be undone over night. Look at me, please." 

I do. Bright blues staring into my own pale orbs. I want to do this otherwise I wouldn't be here. John slides his dark grey sweat bottoms off and I marvel at him. Small but strong. Beautiful. A small patch of course blonde curls. He's kept himself trimmed. I hear the water as he get's in and a relaxed noise escapes his lips. 

"You can turn the lights down if you want. Harry had one of those slide things installed."

I did dim the lights but only because it made me more comfortable. John's head was leaned against the back of the round garden tub and his eyes were shut. Knowing that I didn't like being looked at naked. Bless him. He looked so peaceful. 

The silk boxers I wore are taken off and tossed by the sink. The water is warn and without a thought, I straddle John's lap, my legs wrap and lock around his back. Sitting in this man's lap just feels natural. He gives me that beautiful smile. I want to feel what true pleasures feel like. I want to know what John feels like but like he said, it needs to be taken with care. 

"Do you know."

His voice calls after a moment, water tracks down my lower back.

"How fucking beautiful you are?"

"I do because you keep reminding me." 

His wonderful laugh fills my senses and I relax. His fingers trailing my spine helping me. I lean down, capturing his lips with my own. Tongues teasing and twisting, a pop as I release his bottom lip that I was sucking on and John groans. But this isn't about him, it's about me and he keeps himself under control. Somehow. If I myself was sitting in my lap I wouldn't be able to. Did I just say that?

John's hand is pressed lightly against the small of my back, his other, the fingertips are lightly trailing down my chest. Down the muscular ridges of my stomach, stopping at the patch of course dark curls between my thighs. I do have a safe word. John has taught me much about the ways of the army and if I can remember it, it'll stop. 

"Breathe."

Wasn't I? It's a gentle brush against the soft lump between my legs. Gentle teases that send shock waves through my body and a whimper escapes my lips. 

"Beautiful." 

Between the exciting sensations and the heat of the water, my mind is turning into mush. Pure mush and I love it. I can feel John's lips on my shoulder and to my surprise, I've grown hard in his hand. It's long and slender like myself. My hips buck against his hand. How did that happen? 

"Stop thinking, Sherlock."

There was a moan that paused my lips.

"John." 

I never knew that my voice could be so soft, so much lower than it already was and it was husky. His hand starts to tighten and pump a little harder. My breathing picks up, muscles tighten and my eyes close. I tried to stop it. The harsh memory of rough hands training down my sides. Father hovering behind me and the pain that came was unexpected. 

"Sea angels!" 

My cracked voice all but screamed and I'm off John's lap, not stopping before my back came to rest against the coldness of the tub. I can't breathe. Panic. 

"Stop. Please. I'm be good. I promise."

Suddenly, I'm back to being that scared little boy again. Drawing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms tight around them.

John hasn't move. I've probably scared him to death.

"Sherlock, it's okay. You're safe." 

His voice is worried. The water moves and I know that's he gotten out. Oh god! He doesn't want me now. A small whimper leaves me and I start to panic even more. 

"Open your eyes, please." 

He's holding a towel, one already wrapped around his waist.

"I'm... I'm so sorry."

John just smiles.

"As if your at any fault. Come on. Let's dry off and get something to eat, yeah." 

I rise and he wraps the towel around my waist. I just nod but he presses against me, wrapping his arms around my waist and staring into my eyes, leaning in close to whisper in my ear.

"You beautiful and for one small moment, I got to hear you." 

Leaning down to kiss the crevice of my neck, running a hand through my damp curls. My wonderful John. Caring, strong and beautiful. He takes my hand and we walk downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated. (:


	3. Say You'll Be There

It was a soft vibration followed by a rather shrill ringtone , 'Wake up. Ya noisy brother calling' that made John groan and roll over a little after 9 that morning. Rolling his eyes and reaching for Sherlock's mobile, loudly clearing the sleep from his voice after pushing it to his ear.

"Morning, Mycroft." 

There was a pause.

"Leads me to assume that my dear Brother hasn't changed my ringtone."

John chuckled. "No worries there, mate."

"I do apologize for bothering you both on your leave but there's a matter that requires Sherlock's attention. You are more then welcome to attend as well." 

John rose, sitting on the edge of the edge. His toes resting on the fuzzy pink rug beneath him. He rolled his eyes. Only his sister. 

"You make it sound like we are going to meet the Queen." 

Walking to the bathroom, John sharply inhaled at the cold tile. 

"Indeed. Someone far worse and not half as pleasant. However, we have a cousin that is getting married. All parties attending." 

The toilet flushing and Mycroft makes a disgusted noise from the other end. 

"Where is my dear Brother anyway?"

"From the smells, I'd say he's making breakfast."

"How domestic."

John walked out of the bedroom. Pajama bottoms and nothing more. Entering the kitchen, pressing a kiss to the back of Sherlock's neck before handing him the phone.

"Mycroft." He mouthed and Sherlock sneered, rolling his eyes. Talking faster then normal as John grabbed a glass of orange juice.

"Morning, Clara."

John smiled at his future sister-in-law as she grumbled a bit. Walking to get a cup of coffee before going outside to have a cigarette.

"I don't have a desire to go to Kent. Even if it's for a family disaster." 

Sherlock all but yelled causing Clara to shut the door harder than she meant to.

"I don't care, Mycroft. It's been almost a year. I have no desire to go to that place." There was a pause. "I don't give a bloody hell if Reiss is getting married. He's a distant cousin and Mummy is just putting up a front." 

"It's not up for discussion, Sherlock. Mummy wishes John to be there as well."

"You mean dissect John. She's never made him nor I feel welcome."

John almost chocked on his juice as a plate was shoved in front of him. 

"You either come on your own free will or I force you."

Sherlock lowered his head. "Let me talk to John."

Handing over the mobile, Sherlock sat in his chair. Holding the paper over his face. Only unruly dark curls seen as they shot in all directions. John giving short "Yes, Sirs" and "No, Sirs" as he ate his breakfast.

"Bloody hell, Mycroft. That's not fucking fair." John never curses. 

"You either get him to the Estate or I shall revoke your leave. It pains me to do it, John but I've been threatened with death. Reiss for all his lack of social grace wishes for his cousin to be there. Even if his bride to be is a whale." He chuckled a bit before his shoulders lowered in defeat.

"Yes, Sir." 

Sitting the phone on the counter before sliding it to Sherlock's waiting hand, catching it like it was planned. He didn't say a word but John knew he was seething. Drumming his fingers on the phone's casing before the coffee cup was flung across the room, barely missing Clara's head as she walked in. 

"Miss you too, brat." 

The stringy black headed woman walked to the toaster, butter knife grabbed. "How's Harry?" John cleared his throat, ignoring Sherlock's mood. 

"Oh, she's right pissed but I didn't know what else to do."

"Thanks for letting us use the master."

Clara smiles. "Guest bed is more comfortable." She winked and walked out.

Sherlock just huffed.

"I'm not going home." 

"Yeah, you are. We don't have a choice." 

"Yes, we do."

"Um... no we don't." 

"Why?"

"Because I've been threaten with having my leave revoke and Mycroft has been threaten with death."

Sherlock was a blur as the paper was thrown into the air and he stormed out of the kitchen. John didn't say a word, following him several minutes later to allow him to calm himself. Sherlock was pacing, muttering to himself about beating Mycroft with his own umbrella. John merely leaned against the doorframe. 

"You alright?"

No answer. Sherlock was beyond fury at this point. 

"Sherlock?"

"She's just going to make fun of me. Tell you how much better you can do and that I'm totally worthless. Rub this wedding in my nose and complain about grand-children that she doesn't want in the first place. Father is only going to look down his nose at me. Mycroft is going to do nothing more then kiss his ass and they will shove his success in my face because I haven't done more with my life at such a tender age."

The last few words coming out with a sarcastic hiss. 

John grabbed his hand, causing Sherlock to stop. A gentle hand cupped his face. Sherlock's pale gaze shone with un-shed tears. 

"Hey."

"I don't want to go, John."

"I know. You'll have me and I've dealt with your Mummy before. She doesn't scare me."

Sherlock sighed. John on his tip toes, kissing his lips.

\----------

I completely forgot how uncomfortable it was to sit in a car with the Holmes brothers for a long period of time. Not to mention that one Christmas. It was god awful. Between the bone crushing grip that was holding my hand and Sherlock chewing on his knuckles staring out the window, he was going to be a wreck before we got there.

"Sherlock, do calm down."

It was almost as if Mycroft read my mind.

"You're not doing yourself nor John any favors with your nervousness." Sherlock shot his brother a stare that could kill. I merely laughed. 

"Do try not to worry yourself. I'm going to be giving them a pleasant distraction to your life. My." Mycroft cleared his throat. "Partner is coming over." 

I blinked and Sherlock looked like he wanted to jump out the window. 

"Since when?"

"We've been seeing one another for the better part of two years. Helped him out of a rather messy divorce. He's older than I if that is what you are wondering."

"It wasn't."

I chuckled.

"Congratulations, My." He shot me an evil look.

"That is not my name so please stop yourself before addressing me as such again."

Right. He's still a dick but someone seems to love him. 

"Makes me wonder who has slithered into the Ice Man's heart." 

"Don't deduce me, Sherlock. We promised one another a long time ago that we wouldn't do that. Even more so after everything we've been through." 

"Does he know?"

"He does. Just as you and John keep no secrets neither do me and mine. He's a gentle soul. One that I shall cherish more than he knows."

"Mummy will love that no children shall come from either of her sons."

"Well, that's her problem then, isn't it."

If I didn't believe the words that I were hearing, I would have never believed that the conversation was happening. The two brothers had actually come to a common ground about something. Making their Mum's life a living hell. This was going to be the most awkward weekend of my life. I could feel it in my bones. 

The closer that we got to the house, the more Sherlock's nerves betrayed him. When we started up the long driveway to the Estate, he curled into a ball on my lap. Running my hands through his curls to try and help sooth him. He whimpered against my thigh, acting like nothing more then a terrified child. Going to Uni and getting out of that house was the best thing that happened to him and now he was having to go back.

"Good heavens." It was Mycroft's that broke the silence. "Someone has ate rainbows and threw up the remains on this Estate." His voice was fairly disgusted.

Ribbons of pink, blue and yellow were neatly placed around the trees that lined the driveway. Balloons had been tied to the gate, the same color as the ribbons. It was amusing to see Mycroft like that. 

"These people have lost their minds. Sherlock had un-balled and was snapping pictures with his mobile. Sending the ones that Mycroft didn't catch to his own. "Do stop that, Brother Dear. I'm already going to have nightmares. God, I hope the Groom isn't going to wear pastels." They both laughed and I rolled my eyes. 

The car stops in front of the three floor house. It dates back to the 1700s which Mrs. Holmes like to brag that one of her relatives built it as a wedding present for his child bride. The thought makes me shiver. Two butlers open the doors and we hurry from Mycroft's car only to meet with squeals from their female cousins. They embrace they both and I can tell from their facial expressions that they loath it with a passion. 

"And who is this handsome bloke, Sherlock. Aunt Maddie didn't tell us you'd be bringing a date." One of them purred against my ear and Sherlock wrapped a possessive arm around my waist.

"He's mine, Jasmine. Get your own. Or have you already had all the men in Kent?"

"Oi, save it for someone that cares, Bony." 

They stop when a black Sedan pulls up behind the car. Windows so dark they looked like even the light of day couldn't get through them. Mycroft walks over as the butler opens the door and to both Sherlock and my surprise, Greg Lestrade get's out. Looking more weathered then he usually does. Divorce will do that too you I suppose. Mycroft merely hugs him and whispers something in his ear that makes him smile before they walk back over to us.

"Hello, boys. I know it must be a shock. Bloody hell, it was to me but yeah. Cat's out of the bag I suppose." 

Sherlock and I both smile before retreating into the house. Neither one of us wanting to meet his parents as we escaped to his old room. Everything the same as it use to be. Once the door closed, I am crushed with a passionate kiss. Lips molding together and it takes my breathe away. Sherlock's tongue forcing my lips apart as his tongue tastes my bottom lip. Teasing and I feel like I am going to go weak in the knees. The kiss breaks, both of us panting and he locks his arms around my neck. Mine around his waist..

"Don't leave me alone."

It's whispered. His voice a soft panic. 

"I won't. You have the word of a solider."

His solider. Brave and strong. Willing to protect him from the world. It's a job that I take with all my heart and soul.


	4. Broken Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madeline Holmes get's a taste of John Watson's temper. Some rather interesting things happen in this chapter. Sherlock has a run in with his Father. So warnings of attempted rape are in this chapter.
> 
> Thank you to all that have left comments and kudos. This little story is my baby and I am sorry about the slow updates.

**Sherlock's POV**

A rather odd feeling, being back in this bed. It isn't the uncomfortable lump like the one at Uni and it is far from being cold. Snuggling closer to my sleeping John, face to face, his limp arm draped across my thin waist. 

Soft breathes, as I gently thumb his cheek. So peaceful that the lines on his forehead have evened out. Would he ever understand how truly handsome he was to me? How much I truly loved him? The sentiment, even in my mind, stung. So many years I'f had it forced that caring wasn't an advantage. Only later in my life would I learn how untrue that really was.

Moving slightly, it causes John to tense before rolling over onto his back. Arms crossed behind his head, he didn't seem to wake. To lost in a dream that has a smile etched across his face. Sliding out of bed, feet hit the wooden floor and I quietly pad around the room, reaching my suitcase. Once the coolness of silk wraps around my skin, I start to feel better. Silent as the door opens, leaving it cracked and into the dark hallway I go. It doesn't take long to hear Mycroft and Father, sitting in the family room, talking. Not really surprised as I perch on the steps and listen.

"Your Mother and I are so proud."

DeForest Holmes' voice echoes in the stillness. Deeper than mine and it sends spikes into my brain.

"We only wish that Sherlock would follow in your footsteps. Such a bright young man doing nothing then wasting his talent and shacking up with a solider." 

There was a pause.

"He was a mistake, you know." Father is apparently drunk. "We were only suppose to have one. I suppose that's why I'm so hard on him." 

I swallow the lump in my throat. Surprised at the tear that slid down my cheek. I has always known but to actually hear him say it out loud. 

"Sherlock is far from a mistake. In some ways, his intelligence surpasses my own. He wants your acceptance and nothing more."

Mycroft's words catch me completely off guard. 

"I can't give him that."

Mycroft must have rose. I can see the shadow getting larger, faintly and it appears that he's whispering something in hushed tones. Making his way up the stairs before the sound of glass shattering causes me to jump. He always did have a way of getting under Father's skin. A hand presses to my shoulder as he walks pass, nothing more need to be done and I understand. 

Making my way back to my room, the door closed and locked behind me. John is awake, resting against the headboard. Not saying a word, eyes still closed as long legs straddle his waist. If me sitting on his lap is uncomfortable, he doesn't say anything. 

My lips press gently against his own and that goofy smile I love so much spreads his features. 

"Tease." 

John bucks his hips against my own and I chuckle.

"Where were you?"

"Sitting on the stairs."

"Spying?"

"Observing." 

I lean over, laying my head on his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist. He answers by wrapping his tight around my shoulders. It's peaceful, protecting and this is just one of the many reasons that I love my John.

\----------

Breakfast. The Wedding day.

Two pairs follow one another into the dining hall. Several sets of cousins are already eating. Mrs. Holmes is sitting at the head of the table and her smile seems to fade. Mycroft sits beside Greg, Sherlock beside John and the room is thick with an uneasy silence. 

"John." 

Her voice more shrill than normal, causing him to drop the butter knife he was holding, an odd noise that echoes through the room. 

Clearing his throat, his attention now directed toward Madeline Holmes. The sets of cousins excuse themselves before she speaks again. Mycroft can do nothing more than roll his eyes, Greg holds his breathe and Sherlock wants to jump from his skin. 

"You come from a low to middle class family. Once you become established in the medical field, which I have been keeping track, it proves that you will indeed to wonders for the medical profession." 

There was an eerie silence. Did she just compliment someone? Greg's coffee was stopped halfway to his mouth before he remembered himself. 

"However... until you prove yourself more worthy, my blessings for you and Sherlock shall never come. The Army? Really. Might as well be homeless. Sherlock is never going to prove himself so I can only hope his partner can bring some honor back to the Holmes name." 

Sherlock lowered his head. John taking his hand under the table. God how John hated this woman. 

"Greg." 

The D.I. almost dropped his cup. Mycroft cleared his throat letting his Mummy know of the dangerous ground she was about to walk. Greg wasn't the one to hold his tongue but he'd never went up against their Mother before either.

"Are you worthy?" The words hissed. She was going to rip him apart. 

"I believe so. I've known Mycroft for many years and..."

Madeline rose her hand to stop him. 

"Recently divorced. Small child. She left you because you couldn't get your drinking under control which you have a history of abuse with. You're a smoker, nasty habit by the way. Yes, you are a detective inspector but a low one at that. Your paychecks go for support leaving you with very little so what you believe you are worthy of my son?"

The group sat there. Mycroft was seething. Greg rose from his seat, looking oddly defeated. 

He cleared his throat. "Your son make me believe I'm worthy." He left the room.

In Madeline's mind, her sons were not going to bed with men. She didn't speak until Greg was clear of the room. 

"Really, Mycroft, you could do so much better." 

Sipping her tea with a smug look on her face. 

"My personal life is none of your concern, Mother. I care for Greg dearly, regardless of his social standings." 

"Please, he's a better mach for Watson considering the class level." 

"Now wait just a damn minute." 

John rose before Sherlock could stop him. 

"Greg is a good guy and treats Mycroft with nothing more than respect." His stare right toward Mother Holmes. "I might not have the same blue blood royalty running through my veins but I can give Sherlock more than you lot ever could." 

Madeline grinned. "Oh, I am all ears. Between your parents untimely death and your alcoholic sister having to raise you, I can't wait to hear this. This coming from someone that had to to the the military just so he could afford his medical training." 

John stood in his solider stance, back straight and his arms to the side. 

"There is more to life then money, Mrs. Holmes." He started small. "I can give him love, something mind you he never got from this house. I he had, he wouldn't have turned to drugs. I can give him protection, something a Mother should have done against the evil's of an idiot Father." 

Madeline's face tightened. Mycroft rose, taking his place beside of John. Sherlock sat like a stone in his chair. 

"And last, but certainly not least, he's wanted. Once again, something that you nor your husband seem to understand." 

Sherlock leaned his head to look at John. Tears threatening to fall from his eyes. 

"Never in the time that I've known him did I think falling in love with him was a mistake. He's the most brilliant, loving person I've ever known. And it's no one's fault but your own that your so blinded by hate to see it." 

Madeline waited for a moment before she rose. Staring at the three of them and retreated from the room. John rested his hand on Mycroft's shoulder and he understood, going to find Greg. John sat down, taking Sherlock's hand. His voice trembling when he spoke.

"Thank you."

\----------

**Sherlock's POV**

The wedding itself was rather boring. Dragging on until evening. They were indeed wearing pastels and it made Mycroft's stomach turn. Greg had calmed and was holding onto his partner's hand as they sat. The amount of family that had gathered was more than either of them had ever seen and it was clear they were merely trying to impress. Mummy was beaming even from the events of this morning and Father seemed to be sneaking small sips from a silver flask hidden in his waistcoat. It turns out that John's little speech just made me love him even more. In the light of it, I somehow knew that he would never leave me, never hurt me and that meant more to me than he would even know. 

The reception was just as dry. More drinking, more friendly conversation but still boring. I couldn't wait to get back to London. Back to Harriet's home were I knew once more that I would be safe. I made my way through the crowd, John had went off on his own, mingling with several of the military men in the family. I couldn't deny him the chance to talk to them. I'm selfish but not that much. I was going to miss him so when he deployed but it was a thought that I shoved into my mind quickly. There would be time to think about that later. 

A strong hand grabs my collar and pulls me into the small room in the corner of the garden. My eyes fill with terror as I stare into my Father's eyes. Those unforgiving grey hues that I remember from my childhood. He's drunk, of course but that doesn't explain his actions. Nothing could. I don't move. The glass that I was holding falls from my hand and shatters on the floor. 

"There's people here." My voice is trembling. "Surely you aren't that stupid to do anything here that might ruin you." 

"Shut up, Scott." 

Only he calls me that. It was his brother's name. Why I was cursed with it, I haven't a cue. His hand is resting on my hip, his forehead on my shoulder and the hotness of his breathe on my skin is sicken. 

"Please. I'm not a child anymore. I beg you." 

I feel his nails digging into my skin. My mind begins to panic. It's true, I wasn't a child anymore. I had found happiness, comfort and now it was threatening to be taken away. This man standing in front of me had the will to break me down, break my crown. I was nothing more than a teenager again, trembling in his embrace. He was suppose to protect me, not... not this. I'm turned around, my belt unfastened and then the cool evening air on my backside. He's pressed behind me, I can feel it. Even if I don't want to and I will my mind to take me somewhere warm. Somewhere away from this. 

"Please. Don't." 

I can't stop the tears from falling at this point. Can't stop the bile that rises in my throat. "Stop." I try to wiggle from him but he has me pressed hard against the small work bench in the middle of the room. That's when I feel it, the pressure is off my back and I hear him being thrown across the room. My mind races as I pull my trousers up and redo my belt, turning around to see nothing more than John's back. He's protecting me. His shoulders rise and fall with the anger that is in him. 

Father is not a small person, towering over John as he rose to his feet. Rushing toward him as John's fist connects with his jaw and you can hear the bones break from the force. "Never." His voice is dangerous. "If I ever hear that you touch him again. Mark my words, I will kill you." 

There is no one around but the three of us to hear his low threat. Father rubbing his jaw before he retreats from the greenhouse. I can't move. My eyes are screwed shut and my brain has shut down. I jerk when I feel hands cup my face but I don't mean to. I know it's John. My sweet, lovable John and I can't help the tears that fall from my closed lids. I can't help that my knees buckle and I slid to the floor but his arms are around me and I can't... I can't... 

"I've got you." 

His voice is so soothing. A hand on the small of my back as I cling to his jacket. Burying my face in his chest as the tears flow without regret or concern. Was it seconds, minutes, hours that I stayed in his embrace. I was safe. John had me. I was safe. Then the panic. No. He saw. He saw what my own Father reduced me to. He'd leave. There was no way that I could give him what he wanted. Not known, not after. I was trembling so hard that he held me as tight as he could. Surely he felt that he would break me. A heartbroken sob escaped my throat. It wasn't the fear of what Father was going to do, it was the fear of losing my John.

"Don't... don't leave me. Please." 

Tear strained face, red rimmed eyes staring into his own once I rose my head. 

"I can't... can't do this without you and I'm afraid, John. I'm so scared that I... that you..." 

"Hey." 

His lips touch my own, so gentle, so sweet. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. We'll get through this, yeah. I promised you before that no matter what happens, I'll stand with you. He's a fucking git that doesn't deserve to breathe. None of this is your fault." 

I nod as the words sink in. Eyes still close but my body goes limp. Panic, pain, all these emotions that I'm use to crashing into me at once. Stress. I must have passed out because when I came around, I was lying in my bed. The covers pulled tight against my chin. Comfort. Comfort and the faint scent of cigarette smoke coming from the balcony. The double doors open letting the cool evening breeze blow through the room. I rise. It was John. Unusually to see him smoking, he must have found my pack. 

Climbing from bed, I move to stand behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he leans his head against my shoulder. The butt of the cigarette rose to my lips, drawing the sweetness of it into my lungs before the smoke is exhaled. He understands how it calms my nerves sometimes. He understand that it's better than the cocaine that I've pumped into my veins. My John. 

"I love you, Sherlock." 

"I love you, more than you will ever know." 

I rest my chin on his shoulder, watching as he flicks the butt into Mummy's rose garden. I can't help but smile, wishing that it would set the dried leaves that covered the bottom on fire and burn her babies to the ground. 

"And I'm sorry." 

John twists in my arms. Looking at me intensely with those deep blue eyes.

"That wasn't your fault Sherlock. Your Father is a very disturbed man." 

"After all these years, I still feel like I've done something to warrant this, John. I've done something so horrible..." 

He leans his forehead against my own. 

"It's not your fault, Sherlock." I feel his hand combing through my curls and I start to relax against the feeling. "You did nothing wrong. You are perfect. A little insane at times but in my eyes, brilliant." 

I could feel the small across my lips. Feel the love for me that this man was radiating and it was all for me. 

"I told you that I would be with you regardless. I meant it. You're wanted, Sherlock Holmes and I'm not giving you up." 

I couldn't stop myself from pressing his lips into mine. Molding us together in an intimate embrace that sex could never provide. John sighs against me and I take the moment to press my tongue into his waiting mouth. Tongues teasing with one another and the rush of warmth continues. Making out on my balcony, nothing else seemed to matter. It was just me and My John. My solider. My protector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to jump a head a bit. John will have been deployed and that's where the 'Letters from Home' come into play. Only it will be e-mails back and forth. Hope the tease isn't too much.


	5. Letters From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We fast forward a couple of years. John has been deployed and Sherlock's detective work is going full swing.  
> The end has some trigger warnings for torture.

**2 Years later**  
 **Kabul**  
 **14:30**

There is a scream that breaks through the gunfire that surrounds a group of soldiers that have taken shelter in a gutted brick building, most likely it use to be someone's house.

"Bring him in here!"

Several men follow the orders of the Captain. Doctor hands steady, scrambling to get the wounded private's gear and jacket off. It was over 100 degrees even in the shade, making a mental note that the military need less heavy clothes.

"What's your name, Private?" A bright light shinning from eye to eye.

"Jacobs."

Trying to keep him talking as the tan camo shirt is peeled from the man's body.

"Where you from, son?"

A scream as a hand is pressed over the bullet hole. "G-Georgia, Sir. United States." A set of panic green eyes stare into his own. "Am I gonna die?"

A set of steel blues meet his stare as a comforting smile crosses John's face. "Not if I can help it."

Several minutes later...

"Captain Watson. I need a ground unit and some helicopter support down here. Pinned down in a building outside of Kabul. Have a private with internal bleeding and several other's that are wounded. Need air vac asap."

Static before the reply.

"Copy, Captain Watson. ETA 10 minutes. Find cover."

"Copy, over." And the line goes dead.

Blood stained hands reach down, grabbing a fist full of sand. It wasn't water but effective. The ticking seconds turned to minutes until the sounds of the helicopter was heard in the distance. Shouts in a language he barely understood as more bullets whizzed through the air. It felt like hours before the smaller air vac chopper landed.

The men helping get the wounded and the doctor in. Sand blowing all around them as the chopper was once again in the air.

**Base Camp**  
 **22:00**

Five stressful hours later, Private Jacobs was in recovery and getting ready to be released to go home. Able enough to fly but not steady enough to stay. John sat with his head in his hands. Home. It had been almost 18 months.

The medical tent was roasting. The hot air from outside blowing through the front flap. Trying up the reports for the day with sweaty fingers was the least of his problems at the moment.

John wanted to go home. Twisting the silver engagement ring on his finger seemed to help but very little.

~Chime~

 **Sherlock** \- 'Good evening, my Captain.'

The instant message pulling him from his report. Sherlock knew that the only time he was allowed online was when he was sending his reports for the day and he refused to let that time go to waste. John smiled. Something he was starting to do less and less these days.

 **John** \- 'Good morning, beautiful.'

 **Sherlock** \- 'Bad day?'

 **John** \- 'Pinned outside of Kabul. Had to sow a private back together. You?'

He pressed back to his report tab, waiting on Sherlock's answer. Taking a deep breathe as the last few keystrokes tapped. John saved it and sent it several different people before closing the window. Sherlock had posted a video.

Wild curls going in all directions, he looked like he hadn't slept in days but 'Happy Birthday' was drifting through the small speakers from his violin.

 **Sherlock** \- 'I'm sorry I can't be there with you.'

John had tears in his eyes as the sweet, angelic music ended.

 **John** \- 'It's okay.'

 **Sherlock** \- 'I've made you cry. It wasn't my intention.'

 **John** \- 'Believe me, they are happy tears. God I miss you.'

 **Sherlock** \- 'I miss you. All the men at the Yard still tease me over my ring.'

Sherlock's was the prefect match to John's. Silver but the only difference, Sherlock's had several diamonds around it.

 **John** \- 'All in good fun I hope?'

 **Sherlock** \- 'Mhm. Mycroft is trying to get you and the boys some leave time. I know it's hard even for him but he's moving quite quickly up the ranks himself.'

 **John** \- 'Tell him to hurry up and I will dance at his wedding. It's hot and I've had enough death to last several lifetimes.'

 **Sherlock** \- 'I know. Try to rest when you can.'

 **John** \- 'The same goes for you, young man.'

 **Sherlock** \- 'I do. It's mostly worry. I'm allowed that at least.'

 **John** \- 'I would never deny you that.'

A blast of hot air and a shadow burst into the tent.

"Captain Watson." The solider salutes. "You're needed immediately. Wounded are coming in." John nodded.

 **John** \- 'Back to work. I love you, Sherlock.'

 **Sherlock** \- 'Be careful. Love you more, John.'

 

\----------

"Tell me."

Sherlock was still hovering over the body. The mini magnifying glass pressed between his fingers, eyebrow arched.

"There's a connection."

Studying the fingers more closely.

"Tiny fragments of blood are still under the fingernails. Have it analyzed. Knuckles have been broken. I'd say three weeks at the most. There is still some discoloration of the skin. Male. Late 20s. Before he stumbled up here, he was attacked."

"But why naked and why branded?"

Lestrade ran his hand down his face.

"It's a calling card. Figure out the brand and the rest will fall into place. Most likely upper class. Bored. Needing a bit of fun but there's no evidence of sexual activities."

It was interesting to say the least but Sherlock's mind was miles away. Miles away with John.

"How's John?"

He shot Lestrade a look before Anderson popped in the door.

"They found the branding iron. No fingerprints. It looks like it's hand crafted."

"He's alive." Was all that Sherlock uttered as he walked out the door.

Several hours later, in the flat at 221B, Sherlock pieced together all the information. Even a detailed list of branding irons. Clearly this person wasn't from England because the mark in question was originally from Texas. His mind palace, however, was a wreck since worrying about John. He promised to clean things up later.

Hands steepled under his chin, lost deep in thought, he almost didn't hear the chime on his computer. Sherlock all but ran to check his e-mail. Opening it with care. John was offline by the time he reached it.

_From: J. Watson_  
 _To: S. Holmes_  
 _Subject: Deployment_

_Hey beautiful,_

_Got a few hours of rest so no need to scold. We are being deployed once again. This time closer to the Afghan border. Little more dangerous then I would like but I have to follow orders. I go where I am needed. If you don't hear from me for a few weeks, don't worry. But I know that you will anyway. At least try, for me. I will e-mail you as soon as I return to let you know that I am once again unharmed and safe. I love you, Sherlock. It's that love that keeps me going and I will be with you soon. Give my love to the boys and Molly. Let them know they are in my thoughts._

_Your faithful Captain._

Sherlock sighed, chocking back several small sobs before being able to reply to John's message. It broke his heart.

_From: S. Holmes_  
 _To: J. Watson_  
 _Subject: My heart_

_I understand but I am still going to worry no matter what you say and I shall have a long talk with Mycroft about the whole situation. You were suppose to be safe from the fighting but as a solider as well as a doctor, I would expect nothing less. Please, please for my sanity and my heart come back safe. I really don't know what I would happen if I lost you, John. I need you more than anyone knows and your the only one that truly understands me other than Mycroft. You're my heart and soul, my soul mate and I love you, John._

_Your angelic musician._

Pressing send and slamming the laptop closed, Sherlock couldn't help but feel like his heart was being ripped from his chest.

"You promised me, Mycroft." He was all but screaming into the phone.

"Brother, do calm down. I promised to keep him safe. I have no control over where his company get's deployed. John is a sensible man and in the short months that he's been there, has rose in the ranks with excellent recommendations. He's saved countless lives both in and out of battle. Even the Queen has taken notice. For God sakes, Sherlock, the man is practically a hero."

"I don't care!" Sherlock slumped over in his chair.

"I understand that you miss him. I would miss Greg if the situation was reversed. I will keep my eyes on him. I promise, Sherlock but don't drive yourself mad with this. John wouldn't want that and we don't need you a miss when he comes home."

"How did that go?"

"Six months to a year. I can't get anything earlier. And it seems that the only other way to get him home more quickly would for him to be injured and neither of us want that."

"No."

"Relax. Try to get some sleep before working on the case load more. Gregory really wants to know who randomly packs a branding iron around in their back pocket."

Sherlock chuckled, deep baritone vibrating through the phone.

"Thank you, Mycroft."

"Not a problem, Brother Dear."

 

\----------

It's damp. The smell of Earth is strong here. To strong. Strange conversations in a language that he doesn't understand. He still can't see. For now the world is dark but the pain that floats his body is real, stronger in his shoulder. He's been shot. That much he knows. Fingers move to feel what he's tied too. Springs from a burned box spring mattress. Okay. Now, his mind is going into a panic.

"Name. Rank."

The voice was commanding. Not hard to understand at all. It almost through John for a loop.

"John Hamish Watson. Captain, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Please, I'm a doctor. I don't know anything."

Feeling something cold against his wrists, running down his arms. Water. More panic. It wouldn't be so bad if his eyes weren't blindfolded. The electric shock was nothing more than that and it seemed to rock his whole body. Biting down hard on his bottom lip to stop from screaming out loud. Low voltage at least that's what his mind told him.

"Well, John Watson." There was a slap across the right side of his face before a finger tug into the bullet wound. "You are now a prisoner of war. No one will save you."

That's where his captor was wrong.

Back in London, Mycroft Holmes phone vibrated on the table. Arching a brow, thinking it was Sherlock having one of his panic attacks, his eyes opened wide as he read the text.

"MIA. Captain John Watson and entire unit. POW. Still alive."

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is as always appreciated.


End file.
